


What Will It Cost You This Time?

by AzureXSnake



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Banter, Big spoils, Do Not Read If You Haven't Played Through, Eventual Smut, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Memories, Or I Will Feel Bad, Past Lives, Pining, Spoilers, Tales from the Shadows (Final Fantasy XIV), Unnamed WoL, You've been warned, female WoL, not canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:44:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19972003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureXSnake/pseuds/AzureXSnake
Summary: A retelling of the MSQ events, following canon until the after the lvl 80 trial. From there? Who knows. Starring our favorite Ascian grandpa that would be taking a nap if it weren't for us and that idiot Lahabrea.





	1. And So It Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Story starts in the lvl 79 quests, kinda backtracks, then goes forward again.

How you could let this happen?

Emet-Selch's words play like a mantra, though they pale in comparison to the glaring rays of guilt pouring in through the window you opened since having regained consciousness. Their fiery radiance is a sharp slap to the face and solid reminder that _this_ is all your fault. And you have almost no idea, let alone hope to go on, for how to right the wrongs that _you_ are now the cause of.

The Exarch, no, G'raha Tia: kidnapped. Soul: on the verge of being consumed by Light. Friends: worried. All life on the First: in greater peril than when you first arrived. Ascian plans: proceeding apace. Any one of these things you could take on with confidence, two even, or three. But the whole lot of them together?

You wonder, for the briefest of moments, if you can just walk away from it all. And it is just as quickly swept away by the deluge of sense you have, even with your head swarming like the sack of bees you loosed on the Chilren's spiders. Because you're the godsdamned Warrior of Light. You cannot allow yourself to just waste away in bed.

Sighing a sigh that could put Garuda's Vortex to shame, you haul yourself up, careful of the white creeping along the edges of your vision, and think back. Back to when the world tilted, and everything you thought you knew with it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Those eyes. The very moment his starry gold eyes met yours it felt as though time had taken a turn, and you were so forcefully thrown through it, to make sense of up from down, left to right, reality or a vivid daydream was akin to herding gaelcats... You couldn't be entirely sure of anything with the way seeing him made your head spin round.

Thankfully, that first face-to-face encounter with Emet-Selch hadn't demanded a great deal of input on your part. Your companions had no shortage of jabs and gripes to give ever so freely to the enigmatic Ascian. Be it possession, genocide, meddling, the of teaching detrimental summoning magicks, the ending of worlds, killing of friends, family, loved ones... It seemed nothing could be 'too far' in terms of achieving their heinous goals. So, who could blame them? You felt much the same in every other meeting with such beings... And yet...

Something about him spoke differently to you. Hells, _everything_ about him, down to the colors he adorned, felt so bizarrely familiar. And what was even more maddening? The fact that you couldn't understand why.

The idea of partnering up with an Ascian? Preposterous! But since it was him, an exception could be made. Le-way could be given. Just an ilm. Only an ilm... Only an ilm. Or so you attempted to convince yourself; that whatever it was that made him so headache-inducingly _right_ , in ways that you had not the slightest hope of explaining if pressed, that it was worth putting your faith in. But, of course, nothing is ever that easy.

Every breath you'd taken up to that point was against all his kind stood for and hoped to accomplish. It felt as though you were constantly looking over your shoulder at some points, waiting for your tried-and-true instincts to find the fault in these new, mysterious ones. Or, perhaps worse, for it to be found out just how much you didn't _hate_ him. For Hydaelyn to denounce your actions; rescind Her blessing for your betrayal as Her champion. And the only one playing this game of half-boiled paranoia was you.

Everyone else had no trouble at all rebuking his every advance. Bless Thancred and his razor-sharp wit. It was only you, left to both dread and anticipate his company, seeking him out during what few free moments could be spared and just... talk. On your honor as Hydaelyn’s chosen, you don’t know what made you _want_ to share what could only be called amicable discussion with the driving force behind every hardship you've ever known... But you did. And you tried to fight it. Squash it down so as not to give concern to the others, and might have succeeded, if not for his otherworldly sense for that itch in you that only he could scratch. Truly, it frustrated you to no end how badly you wanted to hate him and be done with it; to go against this incomprehensible force that drew you to his off-puttingly comfortable presence. A struggle that proved utterly futile on your part, time and time again. Especially once he saved Y'shtola. In that clearing, after everyone had gone to care after her, freshly pulled from the Lifestream, it was as if you and he existed in a vacuum.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I wanted to thank you," you mutter, not entirely sure what it is you're saying. "Even if the rest won't, the fact that you did what you did for her, for us, it means the world to have her back."

With the tiniest peek from the corner of your eye, you catch a look on his face that breaks your heart and makes you melt all at once, full of emotions you don't know where to place, or why to warrant.

It's gone too soon, adding in great number to the questions that haven't ceased tumbling round your head, costing you sleep, left you in peace since seeing him in Crystarium. You wish, over everyone else, that he would be candid with you. No more airs. No facades. Nothing to think about or see behind...

_Why?_

”Why what? Questioning my motives again?" He makes a move towards you, all fluidity and grace despite his demeanor, hand reaching up from his side when you feel the first of many tears you cried there hit your cheek. Bemusement shapes to concern as he brushes it away with the tenderness one would save for something, some _one_ important... treasured... "Come now, what is it? Is this not a most joyous of occasion? That the Warrior of Light should be so easily moved to tears...”

"I-I didn't- I do not understand," you squeak and draw away from his touch though it warms you to your core. "Why do this? What are you _aiming_ for?" Words spring forth as quickly as the tears now, giving voice to everything you've kept bottled up for even your own sake. "Your kind have never show us any kindness, ever at our throats. At mine! How is it then, that I can feel such ease in your company, alone in a foreign land where you have the perfect opportunity to take everything that I have striven to protect; to make paltry every life sacrificed in my name, so that I might live another day to do what they themselves know they cannot? Tell me, Ascian! Why do I see the anguish of loss in your eyes when you look at me?"

You collapse to the forest floor in a heap, unable to stop the tidal wave of pent up anxieties from swallowing you whole and leaving you vulnerable in front of, who should be, the worst possible audience. You cry and cry, and hiccup, and cry... and nary a sound comes from him, still hovering from above as you openly weep, overwhelmed by fears and feelings both belonging to you and not.

It is only when you begin to calm that he levels with you, scooping you into his tentative embrace. From something born of exhaustion and acceptance of the comfort he provides, you don't fight it, but you don't respond in kind. Still holding out for whatever he might offer up.

"It is my greatest hope to, one day, be able to share all with you. But I can only do so once you've proven ready for the weight it comes with in bearing," he consoles, albeit, in riddles, hand smoothing over your hair. At least, he has the decency to keep his usual condescension to himself. "We both know you are not. Not yet."

"What subjective terms you offer for a reward I know not how great," you sniff. And he sniggers at your underwhelmed response, untucking you from the warmth of his chest to wipe away the rivulets staining your cheeks with the astonishingly supple material of his glove.

"You are used to the hard work associated with winning over those who most would deem unwinnable, are you not? And is that not what I have labored to do since first appearing before your little party?"

"I suppose," you concede with a pout, finding that luminous gold looking down on you, both amusement and caring wrapped together. It is a look you find yourself very much liking. One that, maybe against your better judgement, stills the tempest swirling inside you.

"Perhaps then, we might both strive to meet each other's insurmountable expectations, yes?" His eyes shine at the prospect... But dare you to hope the same...?

"We could try."

"Is that truly all I am worthy of? Not even a definitive answer to my most reasonable of requests," he quips as he rises and you are slowly lofted off the ground to follow suit. Tendrils of coiling darkness that should be terrifying by all counts, given your intimate familiarity with the destruction they can wreak, ebb and flow around you like the lap of Limsa's gentlest waves, depositing you again into his waiting arms. Much as Runar held Y'shtola. "Mayhap, if I tote you around with me, show you all that I see, you will come to understand a bit better."

A retort of your own sits poised on your tongue, until rudely interrupted by a yawn. Suddenly, you realize just how heavy your eyelids are and lean into him on a reflex you didn't know you had.

"You deign to carry me around as though royalty, but not fight at my side? You are an odd sort, Emet-Selch."

"Yes, yes, I do believe we have established your incapacity to decipher my actions, though they make perfect sense."

"To you and you alone." The welcoming depths of sleep pull on your conscious with each passing word, accompanied by the trills and chirps of forest life all around you, and the crunching of grass under his footfalls. "I would very much like to know you, too. One day..."

"One day, indeed."

You can hear the smile in his voice as you sink into the soundest rest you've had in ages. In a foreign land, in the arms of the one being you should harbor the most distrust, you dream of happy days full of smiles and love, that you cannot recall upon waking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter coming soon!


	2. A Mind Unraveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step closer to understanding, and 10 steps back...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support on the last chapter. I've been doing literally nothing except research and theory-crafting. Hopefully it all turns out well, and some of it, even right. That'd be neat.  
> This chapter was brought to you by Tranquility off the FFXIV OST. Great writing BG song for this

Oh, how your head aches.

Navigating the Ravel going in was not nearly so difficult as finding your way out. And... the lecture Emet-Selch gave beggared belief.

The very existence of primals is synonymous with tempered souls. By way of virtue, are you no better than he? A thrall to your Mother, to carry out Her will in Her fading strength?

Perhaps...

That notion alone makes you wish to dismiss the topic altogether, yet a greater question still remains unanswered: who stands on the right and wrong in the grand scheme of this conflict? More than ever, the need to uncover the truth of your worlds and where you stand in them is glaringly obvious. But now is not the time. However selfish it may be, ridding yourself of your armor and a nice, long _bath_ take priority.

Events in Eulmore, though disastrous, served to heighten your awareness for your personal state of being. Now, you aren't sure how you ever missed it.

 _A matter of perspective_ , you suppose. _How tiresome it is, to always be picking the world apart pieces at a time, while having to remain ever vigilant of the whole._

Your head tips back at the thought, sight greeted with the vast multitude of stars, no longer held hostage from the Greatwood's people by the once oppressive Light. The way those tiny, little stars dance and twinkle beyond the canopy of the trees makes you homesick for the first time since arriving on the First. You wonder how Tataru fares, Cid, Biggs and Wedge, little Alpha on his journey of discovery... Lyse and Hien... You hadn't seen them recovered before you left, and cannot keep your mind now from considering the worst.

But they are both warriors, brave and true, with too much to live for to go dying yet. They are fine... you hope.

It isn't until Fanow comes into view, a well-earned rest in sight, that thoughts of your home turn again to that of another.

Tales of a perfect, singular world, lives given to ward off an all but certain doom... Zodiark... one man's god, another's mortal enemy...? Is that truly the way of it? For all your dealings with Ascian-kind, it had never come into question whether what you were fighting against was evil or not. The answer had seemed obvious, given their methods. The ends do not justify the means.

_Wouldn't you wish for the same?_

Emet-Selch's final inquiry rings clear as a bell in your head, retaining every bit of emotion as it was posed with. Such a peculiar quality to those words... Lonely. And sorrowful...

You spare him a sidelong look, studying him for a time as your haggard collective trudges along the azure that forms your path. You noticed before, with some degree of self-satisfaction, that the petals glow brighter than ever before in the newfound darkness. But you had not seen how beautiful his shadowy features are, cast in that delicate light.

What would you do were the events that befell his people to happen today? Right at this moment? Were they not already? Is that not all you have ever dealt in? Crisis after crisis that threatened the way of life for so many. A savior amongst men. The embodiment of hope for a better tomorrow than the one we have today... That _is_ what you are. It's what you do.

But you cannot shake the feeling that... pieces are missing.

Something inside you stirred at the re-telling of his history. Something deep, deep enough that the Echo could not reach, even when you tried with the added help of his voice guiding you through the experience; of a time very few exist to know of. You just couldn't grasp hold, despite your fingertips grazing the edge and how vital it was that you _know_.

The pang in your chest told you as much.

Having apparently stared too long, consumed by your thoughts, you don’t realize your group stopping; destination reached. Nor when everyone else takes their leave. It’s just you and him, again, and him tired of your thinly veiled gawping.

"Is there aught you would have of me, hero? Or would you rather stand and make faces at me for all eternity? I could arrange it for you," he snarks, quirking a brow and lip, to smirk at your dumb-founded expression at having been caught out.

"Mine apologies." You don't know why you owe it to him, in any event. "My mind is... exceeding occupied at the moment."

"Is that so? Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd at least allow for some form of subtlety next you choose to ogle me, flattering though it may be."

"F-flattering?!" you sputter. _Why does it always feel like he has the upper hand in the interactions?_ "Don't be ridiculous. 'Tis not mine intent to inflate your ego further. The events of the day have left me over-tired, and I would like for nothing better than some peace and quiet after hearing your... your..."

"My what?" He looks so smugly satisfied with himself; the coeurl that got the cream. It irks you to no end how insufferably handsome he is, even wearing that damnable expression.

_Will there ever be a time when I do not find him attractive?_

"Oh, nevermind, don't you have some skulking to do?" you huff, only now stepping foot onto the platforms of the village, determined to free yourself from his company. Your prior outburst still weighs on you like bloody Titan sitting square on your back...

He makes a sound of mock offense that you would have missed to the din of celebration all around you, had he not been matching your pace, step for step.

"I was wondering when I'd see some of that fieriness in you that the gunbreaker so often resorts to." You stop dead to glare at him from beneath your lashes; fresh out of patience with displeasure that he pointedly ignores plainly written across your face. The audacity he has in aiming a radiant smile back at you is astounding, "Well, birds of a feather, and all..."

"His _name_ is Thancred. We are not so beneath you that you can refer to us in whatever haphazard way you see fit," you growl, squaring off to oppose him despite the exhaustion that seeps into your bones. "Your pretension tires me. Greatly. They are more than you give them credit. Just as I am more than a 'hero.' You would do well to _remember that_."

You don't give him the chance to argue against you further, stalking away until you make it to the loose privacy of your high-up lodgings. Packs meet the floor and gear gets tossed off in indiscriminate flourishes while you grumble mindlessly, spewing 'who does he think he is' and 'some nerve' on your way to the adjacent bathing platform. The sight of the full, steaming tub, just waiting for you to dip in, however, has your mood taking a sharp upturn. You silently thank the saintly residents of Fanow for their foresight and secure the flap at the doorway before allowing the last layers keeping you decent fall away.

Even though the water near scalds when you first step in, you submerge yourself completely to adjust to the temperature. Nothing short of 'blessed' could describe the revitalizing heat that soaks into your skin and eases away everything you'd endured... The Light's version of Cerberus... _At least I didn't have to get eaten this time._ That particular remembrance is enough to send shivers down your spine, urging your hands to scrub with grater fervor.

A pleasant surprise comes in the sophistication of Fanow's waterways: the drainage system is highly efficient, and it takes no time to get the water flowing. Only a tidy, little fire spell is required of you to reheat the tepid bath to perfection. Well, almost perfection.

Practically a whole wall of the enclosed space is dedicated to shelves and shelve of oils in all varieties, to your delight, and dismay as you find the script too foreign to read, even with your cursory knowledge of ancient Ronkan. Deeming it only a minor inconvenience, you pop the cork off a random bottle for the overbearing scent of lavender to smack you in the face. It is quick to find its place once more as you resign yourself to play the same game until one suits your mood. When you look back, however, it is as though the letters have made sense of themselves and, again, you are left to stand there blinking away like a fool, unconvinced of your sanity at this point. But the bath is otherwise ready and you... deserve to cut your losses... or rather, gains, for once, and settle on a light mix of lilac and native berries. Giddy with the chance to indulge yourself for a change, you step back into the water once more, basking in the luxury this is simply leaning back and closing your eyes.

The clamor of the party below drifts upon the wind: songs sung in high-spirits, music playing to guides those who, too drunk on glee and alcohol both, can't quite match the words, coupled with the natural life of the forest... It is so tranquil. You would not mind if this is all you heard until the very end of your days, but wonder how long it will last for this time, before the world has need of you in some manner or another. On the morrow, of course, but for now?

The spell of serenity breaks with a knock outside the door and you can't help but smile to yourself.

_Not much longer, apparently._

"Yes?" you call to whomever it might be.

"I did not see you after we returned," comes Y'shtola's calm voice, clear through the thin barrier separating you. "Is aught amiss? I would have expected you to be milling about the festivities." The implication she makes, that she doesn't know you know of, makes you shift uneasily, recalling the conversation you were most certainly not meant to overhear twixt her and Urianger. And, met with your silence, she presses on, "Just as well, the Night's Blessed have come from Slitherbough. There's no way of hiding it now; all of Rak'tika wishes to officially welcome the Warrior of Darkness."

"I am fine, I assure you. Just weary from the day's trials." It is a half-honest answer, at least. "If I never see another sin eater again, it will be too soon."

"Is it not a bit early to be saying such things?" she retorts, amusement apparent in her tone.

"Aye, but that does not make it any less true," you concede while raising your hand from the water and hold it out before you. The same scars remain. Same callouses. The Light within is stable. Nothing has changed, and you allow the appendage to slip beneath the surface again. "I'll join in shortly. Tells the others, would you? I'll not have you all worrying over me just because I desire a proper bath for a change."

Her laugh is a reassuring thing, easing the tightness in your chest upon the recollection of her falling form in those cursed ruins. You sill cannot believe you nearly lost her...

"I shall, then."

To the sound of her dimming footsteps, you float yourself over to the open edge of the pool, darkness stretching for as far as you can see. Only the bright blue paths serve to illuminate the wood under its dense canopy; offering little distraction from the mess of emotion tangled in your heart. Sadness with joy, triumph with defeat, yearning with denial... And sorting it all out is not something you have the time for at present but, oh, how you wish you did. Maybe then you could figure out how to go about relations with your Ascian cohort.

"Knock, knock."

Oh, for the love of-

"What in the Seven Hells do you think you're doing in here?!" you hiss lowly at the subject of you thoughts, curling into a protective ball below the shimmering surface of the water.

"I wished to have a word, and you were taking entirely too long," Emet-Selch explains, back turned toward you, you see. Again, the modicum of decency he offers is... appreciated. Although, you aren't certain that appreciation is what you are feeling right at this moment. "'Tis all well and good to treat yourself after an arduous battle, but what did I say about boring me?"

"Really, I tire of being spoken to like a child. I can only assume the solace of my skin must be quite pleasant, since you are so taken with finding ways to get beneath it."

"Has it been working?" he asks with innocence that he has some nerve in feigning.

_Two can play at that._

"No, of course not," you sweetly lie; a dagger dripping in honeyed poison. "If you insist upon having this _talk_ of yours, however, I will need you to pass me the robe by the door. As you've said many a time, you like to watch, and I'd hate to afford you the opportunity."

"This...?" He motions in disgust to the fur garment hanging off the wall that you can tell, just by looking, is reasonably comfortable. "I think not." With a snap and swoosh, a billow of material falls over his waiting arm, which he then proffers to you. "Take it."

Sensing it useless to argue the point, you sigh and reach for the silken fabric, eyes going wide on contact. It is so... soft. Light and airy, yet somehow there is a weight to it that gives it significant substance. Like you are wrapped in an embrace.

"Thank you, I suppose. It is quite nice."

He hums a sound, telling you without telling you that your reaction was never in question. You are slightly bothered that it feels as though you are dancing in his palm... again. You set the tub to drain once more, exiting out to your quarter with him in tow and pray no one is paying close attention to shadows behind curtains up this high.

"You wished to talk," you prompt as you rout through your more relaxed attire, finding something suitable, and, with a handful of prismatic stone, allow the robe to take on their shape. This time, he truly sounds offended.

"How could you-? That- So hideous. Your ungratefulness is thoroughly noted," he grouses, looking oddly like a kicked puppy.

"'Tis not that I am ungrateful. But I won’t be have this conversation wearing naught else than a robe, even if only in appearance." He still pouts, although, it's more of just a sour expression than anything else. On another night, it might deter you, but he is here, and so are you. You take a seat in your hammock-bed, motioning for him to occupy its twin. His feet shuffle him into place even as his eyes roll; the tides turn in your favor, if only a little.

His air if ease is suddenly gone, posture hunched with both elbows on his knees, hands entwined over his mouth. "How have you been feeling in the time since I first made my presence know to you?" he asks, golden irises staring at you without their usual shine. It puts you on your guard, and you aren't sure if answering honestly is in your best interest. But you cannot lie, not when he's already seen what you hide beneath...

"I... I can't say for sure. So much has happened already, and so much of it does not make sense to me, as you are well aware. It keeps happening, at strange times, I'll look and everything will be exactly as it is, but I am seeing it differently than even a second before," you admit, turning once more to the comforting dark that surrounds you; tucks your secrets away and holds them close. "It is not unlike the Echo, but my Mother's gift has never afforded me these types of clarity before. Though it is a boon more often than not, it concerns me all the same."

"Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

"Gods, no," you scoff. "The last thing I need is to give them all cause for concern when it can be put to better use elsewhere. I am fine. Until I am alone again, to face truths that I do not yet know how to handle. But has that ever been different? Be it loss, or confusion, paralyzing fear, uncertainty and doubt, defeat, I would endure it all and then more if it meant the world could breathe a bit easier for it."

"Aye, a hero in the truest sense."

"Oh, stop that," you chide, swatting lightly at his knee with the back of your fingers. "I'm being serious."

"As am I. When taking into consideration your broken soul's state of being, it is remarkable; the peerless force that propels you time and time again to thwart our every advance as Ascians. And yet, you allowed mine. Why is that?"

Truly, you are at a loss for worlds now; an antelope of the Shroud facing a tiger of Yanxia, pupils wide staring at the unknown and lethal. He does not look away from you, but you cannot bear his knowing gaze watching you flounder. And so, you turn away.

"I-I don't know. There are..." you swallow around a growing lump in your throat. Of what, you cannot name. "There are times when the answer seems as though it might come to me, but it is never quite there. So close, yet so far, as if it is not even mine to know. But it feels so wrong not to. And, then, you go and say what you said, about this world of yours divided, and..."

Your head aches, the Echo coming forth to supplement details that you want so badly to fill in the blanks, but it stops just short of where you need it... and recedes back to the depths of your mind. Out of reach.

"Dammit all!" you snap, fist clenched and ready to pound against anything at all. But nothing is within convenient range, and the irony of it makes you growl, releasing the futile tension. "I don't know what to do except go on another day. See whether or not it might yield answers as each passing one grows increasingly frustrating."

Your truth having been said, you allow your eyes meet again, his somewhat sympathetic to the situation you've been left to deal with. Shouldering responsibilities that no other could genuinely understand. Alone. Just like him.

"You have resolved to this course of action, then? Given time, and enough grievance, would you dare to forsake it?"

"No," you breathe, small smile upon your lips. "I would not for all the world. Too many people depend on me, on my 'peerless force,' as you say." Saying it out loud, though you've thought it neigh on a thousand times since the very beginning of your journey, brings you a small amount of ease, and you snuggle into the robe through the illusion. He too seems to be a bit more his usual self, perked up with his chin resting softly over the side of one fist, other arm draped now where is had been stiff before. "And I have the most wonderful friends a person could ask for by my side. Though I dare not burden them with the things I myself struggle with on a more personal level, no matter how hard we fight, how impossible the feats we hope to accomplish, I know there is no goal too lofty so long as we stand beside one another." And it is true. Every word. There is nothing you would not do to see the dreams you all work so tirelessly for come to fruition. "But come now, is this really what you came here for? To interrogate me?"

"No, no," he denies, hand that propped his entirely kissable jawline now waving to dismiss the light-hearted accusation. "I merely wanted to see how you fared myself. It is one thing to observe, but an entire other to hear the way of it from the source. T'would not do to have the warrior whom so many rely feel ill at ease with the decisions left to her."

You hum now, telling him yet not that you aren't wholly convinced. But in a way that you don’t wish to press any further. Your peace is made and you smile warmly, twining your fingers through his own. Awkward though it may be, it feels right.

"Thank you, again, either way. I think I needed that."

He retracts his hand, your heart ceasing to beat, before he takes both yours in his; properly, delicately, as though you might break were he too zealous.

"It is my pleasure, hero."

For once when he calls you that, it does not sound like a jab, and when you look up from where your beings meet, you find the light returned to his once shaded eyes, joined with a barely-there smile of his own. But you see it clearly as the stars above.

For just a moment, you are possessed. Your body moves of its own accord, closing the space that separates the two of you until none remains. And your lips meet. He does not pull away, does not lean into it, but he responds, light as a feather to your own uncertainty.

It is so nice. So... _right_.

Until you regain yourself and remember where you are, who he is, how inappropriate what you just did was.

"I am so sorry." You shoot up from your sitting position, immediately beginning to pace the room, not looking anywhere near him as apologies and reasonings flying from your mouth. "I don't know what came over me. I swear, I would have never done that in a million moons. It just- just-!"

Your tirade is halted by an arm reaching from around your waist to hold you still, surprising you enough for a noise of such to escape you, to your further embarrassment.

"Do not dare apologize for that," he commands, breath fanning out against the back of your ear and down your neck.

Again, you swallow hard, but you know exactly what it is you are feeling this time around. You nod stiffly, too petrified to speak, lest a whole new flood burst forth.

"Wonderful." _Oooh, that simpering tone is dangerous..._ "Now," he continues as he eases you out of his hold, "a party is no party until the guest of honor arrives."

With one of his horribly grand gestures, he parts the curtains that are your door and makes for you to proceed through. Somehow, you find his ways growing on you to the point of... endearment.

As you move to exit, he snaps his fingers once more, and you are in your usual gear, but... better. Yours is so worn that it feels a part of you, yes, but not like this. This feels as though a second skin, let alone combat gear, something beyond natural. Like coming home.

"To help the people see you for what you are. The finest among them all."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and eek out a quick word of thanks before rushing out and away, whisked into the uproarious joy of the crowd.

"It has always been my greatest pleasure to see that look on your face, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future chapters may appear out of order. It really depends on what I feel like writing first, and then I just have to to run with it.  
> So, really, thank you for reading. This is really fun for me, and so is sharing it. Hope you all enjoy it, and feel free to leave any feedback you have, it's a big help.  
> 


	3. Have You the Strength?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...the wicked shall not inherit the world!_  
>  “ **I’ll kill him**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to remember to update the publication dates when I post, cuz the last update, the tail end of the first week of this month, got put back in midNovember, when I started the chapter lol  
> In order for the bit in the beginning about finding another captain to replace Lyna to make sense, you'd have to have chosen the 'Shouldn't you be resting? What would the guard do without their captain?' text option in the quest 'Words form on High.' Just a heads up.  
> And sue me for taking creative liberties. I just felt like this part could have used some fleshing out.

Under the dark of night, you fight. And just barley scrape out a victory.

But the cost... How much more loss can the people of the First see before the promise of a life worth living, of freedom from the fears that loom over their heads... how much more until the toll becomes too great?

Grief pervades every facet; from their struggling movements to the strained words they say, in Lyna's voice when she breaks down. Against her wishes to attend to Thancred's well-being, a quick exchange via linkpearl all it takes to make out that your recently-surly friend is in no mortal danger, you insist on accompanying her convoy. The medics have them both in good care, to be sure, but Lyna... Her unit, whom she fought, and would have gladly died there with to protect what _you_ fight for, all turned before and against her. Had Minflia and Thancred not rushed to her aid, she would have shared their wretched fate.

The entire trip back to the near-deserted streets of the Crystaium, she hardly uttered a word if it did not pertain to her duties.

_Appoint another captain she said... What rot!_

Experience demands that when faced with such a devastating blow, one _must_ carry on, unflinchingly. For when the jaws of despair should be allowed to sink their fangs into you, it will truly be over. Their dreams, aspirations, visions, their hope... it would all be lost to the pits of her misery. 'Tis well that she carry on so stubbornly, even going so far as to refuse a bed in the Spagyrics. At yours _and_ Chessamile's behest.

"There are those in greater need of your care than I," she reasons: hard as stone and without so much as an ilm left to argue. Not that she provided either of you with half a chance, sprinting off to the barracks as soon as she was cleared.

_Yes, she is fine, and will only be better when this is all said and done._

You can but pray that the fallen find their peace, as well; sanctuary in the darkness.

Thancred seems only a little worse for the wear when you overlook his evident agitation at being forcibly admitted. Unlike many of the other patience, he fared much more favorably, and has the good sense to keep from complaining despite his inability to sort out business in the meantime. Particularly Minfilia's whereabouts, given that she'd been sent to the Hortorium near a bell ago, and as the wounded continue pouring in, supplies running low, the herbs she was sent to fetch only grow in necessity. At least from him, you don't have to make much of an effort in concealing that you go off to look for the girl based on your own personal concerns for her, rather than the more selfless reasonings one might associate with the Warrior of Light. Or Darkness. Whichever. Chessamile seems to understand your motives just as well, assuring you that there is stock to be had before you trot out to the nearest aetheryte.

Staring far out into the shallow pool that teems with life beneath intricate floors, Minfilia's not a hard one to track down: poised in a tableau you recognize a bit too well. With Eulmore having done everything in its power to shelter her from a life such as yours, and the harsh truths that come with it, ‘tis unsurprising that she take the realities set upon her hard. Even for all the battles you've faced, with the blood of multitudes on your hands, putting the broken pieces back together never became any lighter a weight on your soul.

You've no need to guess at the horrid thoughts that torment her. If I'd been faster. Been stronger. Fought harder. Done more. Not faltered. If I had lived up to the expectations of others, perhaps it could have been different. You know, so, you take her into your arms in the quietness of that little botanical sanctuary, giving your shoulder for her to cry hot tears of frustration. As you have done so many times before. As anyone with a fervent wish to protect something with all their heart does when they simply cannot.

"You may not feel it there," you start as you gently sway, still cradling her shaky form, "but strength exists inside you, more than can be attributed to a combined score of men-"

"You needn't give praise where is is undeserved-" she interrupts, only for you to fire right back.

"Nay, I do not. You have that and more: a kindness that would put the highest held saint to shame, a compassion that knows no bounds, a fierce desire to keep those you care for safe from harm, and the courage to act on it all. That is more valuable than a great many things in this world. It would not do to sell yourself short, now would it?"

She sniffles a final time before gingerly stepping out of your embrace to stand on her own two feet. Her eyes shine from more than just tears now, and she offers one of those soft, dazzling smiles you've come to associate with her. "No, I suppose it wouldn't."

"That's better."

You wipe her cheeks before sending her off with her new-found confidence and the requested herbs, happy to see a spring in her step while you gather the last few on the list. The task provides you with a much needed moment of quiet to weigh your available options. Ranj'it is dead. The Eulmorean forces should be weakened with the loss, and the opportunity for a counterstrike could not be more ripe. A Warden waits, still in Ahm Areng and Khoulusia. But where, exactly, remains a mystery; something you will have to discuss with the others sooner rather than later.

Besides, would you even have the blessing of the First's people, given what evils have been visited upon them for the support of such endeavors? What would they want?

_I hope against hope that their strength holds out, so that I might show them a life that lies beyond this nightmare._

It is those thoughts that carry you again to the Spagyrics, the gears of your mind turning and tuning out the world around you. Thancred offers a measure of distraction from your turbulent ruminations, but the true lifeline comes in the form of a battered soldier; one whose friend met their demise at the hands of the sin eaters.

"'I never knew our world was this beautiful' he told me. 'I'm so glad that I got to see the night sky...'"

You could cry, you could scream, you could dance for hearing that bittersweet swan song _They have hope. They have hope!_ Yet you refrain, letting the guard say his piece before quickly excusing yourself, Thancred calling after you about some meeting in the Ocular. Only the furthest thing from your mind.

The need to run cannot be contained, legs aimlessly traversing stairs and winding metal with a swiftness you did not feel capable of until those heartfelt words pierced through the fog of doubts.

_Don't give up. Don't give in. Please._

"I won't," you swear around harsh pants, stopping to catch your breath on the catwalk overhead the Universalis. There is a calmness up there, you realize, watching life in this part of the Crystarium start again with Bragi at the helm. 

_Even without the intent, I'm always somehow watching over them. Must be ingrained in my blood,_ you muse with a soft snort, leaning your elbows onto the rails to breathe deeply the sense of resolute firmness that blankets over the city. It urges their steps in a way that spreads a warm fondness through your system, even as a breeze kicks up to make you shiver.

"A hero's work is never done, ey?" comes Emet's voice from over your shoulder, leather-clad arms slipping themselves around your waist, joined by his overly-adorned chest at your back. The open show of affection is a shock, albeit, one which you find yourself unable to resist reclining into.

"Not at present, and not any time soon. Two Wardens remain, and so long as they exist these people will never know peace. Nor their children. Or any lives that might follow."

"You remain so attached to the notion that slaying the Lightwardens will be the answer to their prayers. How are you certain you do not do more harm than good?"

"That," you languidly point to an open pane in the encompassing glass dome, affording all a peak of the star-littered sky, "is all the proof I need."

It becomes clear, however, through the sound of his classic, patronizing hum, that you provided the wrong answer to his deceptively innocent question.

"How very short-sighted of you," he comments sardonically. "Typical for one of your fractured nature."

You swivel 180 in his hold, indignation palpable, to fix him with a chilling glare, "Why purposefully set pitfalls for me to fall into if you know my mind so well? And _your_ condemnation over the state of _my_ soul has very little to do with how I feel for these people. Should they require aid, I will do all that I can to provide them succor. I will fight in their name. Be the figure cast in shadow against the light, to inspire them all in their bleakest hour. I will see that they can live for themselves."

The smirk he is so fond of plastering to his features while discussing the lives of whom he deems beneath him is nowhere to be found as you rant, replaced by another uncharacteristically serious look. Similar to all aspects of the one he wore in the Greatwood with the exception of his eyes; blazing more adamantly than all the variants of Inferno you've borne witness to.

"And they will doubtlessly squander that generosity. Efforts that you so freely give to these undeserving masses," he spits out the word as though it were poison, "thrown back in your face without so much as a thought to the suffering you endure on their behalf."

"That is their choice to make!" you rage, fisting the lapels of his overcoat. "We have seen it, time and time again: I am not enough to save them all. Be it against, or for my efforts, they will die. And I would _NEVER_ betray that sacrifice by leaving them to fates crueler than I care to imagine."

"Do you have any idea what you're saying?" he barks incredulously, drawing nearer until your breaths mingle, with energy so frenetic it gives you goosebumps. There is an eagerness in the electrum that holds your gaze, breaking your control while the thought of biting his so-very-close lips in a show of dominance flits through your head to war with what is "right" and "appropriate."

With a steadying sigh, you resign yourself to admit what you've tried so hard to deny since Slitherbough, "You think that I have not already considered that I put myself at stake? I may not have the specialized attunement to aether as you Ascians do, but I know my own. I understand full well what is happening within me and I can overcome it."

"Oh, spare me-"

"I will not."

For a beat, he stares at you. You stare back harder.

"And if you misjudge even yourself, and find that you cannot contain the mounting Light?"

"Then I will _break_ for them."

The world pulses once those words leave your mouth; a spell you did not know you were casting. Images flash and blend in time with a myriad phrases:

white hair

 _... **saved** us._

red mask

 _We **failed**!_

black robe

_You, and Hythlodaeus..._

a heated exchange

 _ **Our world** was..._

a chilling revelation

 _He willed it..._

a growing divide

 _...bring them back!_

_...not alone..._

_And what if you misjudge even yourself, and find that you cannot stand before His might?_

_Then I will **break** for them._

You groan at the ache in your temples, the result of _something_ pulling from a deep recess in the very depths of your consciousness. "We have... had this conversation before, yes?" Through the Echo-related mist, you see the man before you, albeit in stuttering glitches; this version, and the other that you can scarcely make sense of. Familiar as can be, yet entirely unknown. Through considerable strain, you pose your query once more.

"Indeed we have," he mutters, concern etched into his features over the pain sieging your mind from corners you had no clue existed. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, letting his hand rest there, its twin pausing just short of the same position on the other side of your face. "If I may?"

Another pound resonates behind your eyes, forcing them shut as all your focus directs to merely keeping yourself upright without his support. Your assent sounds foreign and weak; a strangled beg, and you know not what you consent to, but you trust him in an odd way. To look after you as only someone with greater power could.

His response is quick and sympathetic, the light press of his palms to where the pain radiates from immediately cooling your heated skin. The throbbing becomes less insistent, to which you breathe a sigh of relief, answered by a wince of his own. With senses unmired, you feel now the silken slip of aether coalescing against your own, much darker, heavier, engulfing but not overbearing. Not yet anyway. But against yours, already steeped in enough Light for Y'shtola to mistake you for an eater, and that was before taking in another Warden... this must be wholly uncomfortable for him at best.

"Emet-Selch, stop it, I'm fine now." _I won't be much longer if he continues._ Already, you feel tears brimming at the sight of him, stubbornly concentrated and agonized in a way you never wanted to be the cause of. "I'm alright."

_Why? What did I do to deserve this kindness from you, Emet-Selch?_

Slowly, the ebb and flow of his aether becomes fainter, all the while cradling yours as though it might break at the slightest inconsistency to its movement. The last wisps of tenderly caressing darkness retreat back into himself, naught remaining of your connection save the physical contact you share. His heavy pants fill your ears, adding tenfold to the guilt of him leaning more weight on you than he likely realizes. On instinct, you lend more of yourself, pressing close to hold him up in his moment of weakness. 'Tis only fair, when he has done the same for you.

A teasing hum is all the warning you get before the Ascian damn near throws himself atop you like a person-shaped blanket, arms sliding to hang limp over your shoulders.

"Oh, Gods-"

"I never was able to refuse you, you know," he rumbles, exhausted, lying his cheek on the slope of your neck.

"I did not," you huff with the effort of shifting him higher so the position is less awkward, "but I'll be sure to make note of it for future reference. Are such undignified acts not below someone of your station?" Try as you might to keep your tone breezy, the intimacy of the moment is not beyond your notice. In more base parts of your mind, you tuck away that he smells of well-worn leather and something akin to spice in an alluring peppery way.

The soft timbre of laughter ripples through his body into yours, and you can't help but be happy that your joke stuck. "Undignified, perhaps, but too much fun to deny when seeing you struggle to 'care' after me."

"I was _worried_ ," you admit entirely too readily.

"To think, the Warrior of Light, Savior of the Source, fretting over a Paragon-" "I could drop you if you'd like."

"No, no, you needn't go out of your way for little, old me." No amount of jesting, however, can cover how haggard he looks when at last he peels himself away from you.

"Someone's seen better days. Oops! I, um, hadn't meant to say that aloud..."

Despite his nonplussed air, all he does is sigh, "I have no one else to blame for it save myself. Besides," his signature lop-sided grin returns, "you're no breath of fresh air either. When was it last you bathed?"

"By Hydaelyn, I don't know why I bother with your sometimes," you rib with a soft shake of your head and smile to match. "Care to join me? There's to be a meeting in the Ocular shortly and I wouldn't want you to keel over on the way." You hold out your arm in waiting, as you'd seen done in the picture books your mother would read you before bed. Equally as amused, he takes you up on another offer, only to spin you dizzyingly fast back into his arms.

You eyes meet, unguarded and honest. Again, time seems to stand still for you to have this moment. Nothing else exists. He leans down. You tiptoe up. He stops short so that your lips brush with every word, "I dare not think what your friends would assume should we turn up together looking quite so... cozy."

"I-aghm-I suppose you may have a point..."

"Allow me then, to leave you with this, oh, treasured Warrior of Light."

There is no ravenous sea of flames, no crumbling of mountains, or crashing of waves; no great doom follows as you kiss, slotted fully against each other like you had been doing it all your life. Meant to fit right there in his embrace. But it is magical all the same. And it ends much too soon.

"I shall see you soon, yes?" Somehow, he looks more rejuvenated than he had a second ago, stepping back into his shadowy gateway with a subtle bow.

_Well, subtle for him, anyway._

"Indeed you shall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of order update, oopsies. I haven't beta'd the last part of this chapter nearly as much as the beginning like 3/4th, but I just want it out there. It took so much longer to write than I expected because it somehow ended up so much _longer._ Oh well, sorry if there's things here and there I missed. Regardless, thank you for reading and showing your support. It's immensely appreciated along with the feedback you all leave <3


	4. Fated Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your body... aches endlessly. Not so much as sleep can save you from the hurts, though of a different kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, apologies for the wait on coming chapters. I was in a pretty low place when I began writing that I'm no longer in. Thus, I've found it more difficult than I'd like to, to find will in continuing this piece, and taking time away from playing 14 to do so as well. Hope you'll all forgive me for that. On with the show \o/

You breathe a sigh into the night from atop your rooftop perch.

The sun departed long ago, ushering in so many stars, it would take several of your lifetimes to count them all. And the notion is ironic, leaving an acrid taste in your mouth.

From up so high, you can see the remaining masses bustling to and fro in a dance that does not cease. A few collect in small groups under trees in the streets, or on the lush greens, content to carry on their banter under the luminous moon. 'Tis a sight that would usually bring you joy; seeing your fellows mill about their lives, talking freely of whatever their hearts desire. It never took more than an instant on your part to recognize whenever conversation turned to debate, shepherding those involved towards the appropriate settings. Though most knew well enough to do so themselves, you aided to that end for the good of the public. It was your greatest pride to serve them, so long as they could be happy.

But it is no longer your place; one of the many consequence that followed your decision to quit your occupancy.

 _You do it for the sake of all life_ , you remind yourself, something you've repeated a lot over the past few days. So very few they are left. And even more precious.

To think of what is to come... the inevitability that they _will_ have to face... it is almost more than you can bear.

Footsteps sound at your back, but you do not turn to greet whom they belong to.

The name he says is foreign to your ears, yet, it does not feel out of place.

"We must needs have words, my love."

"What is there to say?" you inquire with a flippancy he knows by now to expect. You grew weary long ago of being run in circles; of the attempts to make you see a point of view with which you could not agree. Back when the phenomena first manifested and a consensus could not be reached on how best to handle it. "You know where I stand. All of you."

On instinct, you dart towards Anyder just before the first sounds of commotion break the peace of the quiet night. It may not be your duty any longer as one of the Fourteen, but it was not for reasons such as this that you abandoned your post. And it was not as though you didn't try warning Lahabrea to be careful, even prior to you vacating your seat. But, you suppose, the words of a defector meant very little to one as self-assured as he. The utter fool.

Your companion follows suit, on your heels as you swing the doors wide for a flood of researchers and civilians alike to fan out into the streets. Through the din of panic, groans and shrieks from the inner chambers housing all manner of lifeforms meet your ears, their close proximity raising the hairs at the nape of your neck as you fly over the heads of those running for their lives. Some few brave souls had stayed behind, already fashioning barriers, to which you and he bolt past heedlessly.

It is to be another long night, with no time to stop, no time for assessment; for every moment you waste is another life lost. He understands as much and keeps to himself, having your back as much as you have his while you wind through the halls.

It isn't until you near the center of the facility that you hear aught else than the sounds of the rampant creations and the horrors of death.

"I offer up my life's energies in the name of noble creation! Come forth, Quetzalcoatl! Tame the frenzy which profanes these halls!"

It is a voice you know. One of Akadaemia Anyder's top researchers as a powerful creationist, and not one whose life energies you'd wish seen given to constructing another monstrosity. Seconds tic, the ward dissipates, and you are just in time to see her body drop to the ground as her soul takes the shape of what should have been a magnificent creation, but at too great a cost.

"Lahabrea," your partner swallows, "will not be pleased..."

"He will have sensed it by now, and he will when the energies of the creature fades as well. He only has his own arrogance to blame," you remark coolly, stepping forward, weapon in hand. "You must know that I cannot be swayed from my course; the same as you. For you to be here with me is foolishness. You only draw the ire of the others."

"Even so," he growls, taking your arm, and forcing you to look at him, before you can make another headlong leap into the fray, "I will not leave you to shoulder the weight of our world alone."

For as serious as he looks, and as much as his tone gives you pause, you cannot be so sure.

"We shall see how long I am able to hold you to that, Emet-Selch."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You could swear your heart is being torn from your chest. And yet still, you _must_ buy time. As your home burns all around, pieces falling below the fractured surface of the planet, you fight wave after wave of terrors. For each you fall, three more make up for the one lost, but you cannot yield. Though not all can be saved, those who remain can still be protected. So, you fight tirelessly, even after those who were able to stand by your side have long-since disappeared. You do not back down, bringing forth the superior magicks you wield, until you find yourself on a platform in the heavens. The vantage point affords you naught but a greater view at the devastation; each impact from the ceaseless rain of meteors, and every subsequent explosion ending more life on the world you so love.

You pray, to whatever powers are left to exist in your favor, that the wards hold on that last bastion of your civilization. Your final hope.

Just one monstrosity remains before you, winged and terrible, with as many faces as those whose minds it was created by. Disturbingly wrong, like the rest.

And you defeat it all the same, left with no time to celebrate your victory before a pillar of the deepest shadow erupts from the star's core.

The sight is enough to bind you under the fears of failure.

_I am too late. My comrades fell to a new legion of nightmares, powerful enough to break those painstakingly constructed barriers; summoned while I was not there to defend them._

But, no.

From that dark column, vast wings burst forth, and you allow the remnants of your heart to soar for the briefest of moments... until the first of many, tiny lights begins to rise up into the pitch. One by one, and slow at first, before the flow worsens and you understand the full price your people are being made to pay for their salvation. Far more than originally projected.

"No," you whisper, a soft, yet no less powerful, plea made to an indifferent void. "No, please, you can't."

You break into a sprint, only stopping once the entirety of your mess of a planet is in full view from over the edge. You cannot look away from the multitude of souls, floating from one darkness to another, for... the greater good... And an endless stream of tears goes with them. These are your people, whom you swore to protect from the first day you filled that seat as a member of the Convocation, fought to hard to see live on, being swept away. Consumed.

"Make it stop," you beg, helplessly now, from your perch above. "Emet-Selch... No more. I-I can't... Emet-Seeeeeeeelch!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No sooner than the dream fades, the fiber of your being feels as though it is shoved into a vessel far too constricting to be proper. Images that plagued you with such clarity mere moments ago; that left you to bolt upright in your bed, elude your mind's eye until you think so hard it triggers another attack.

Blinding white overtakes your vision against the darkness of your room in the Pendants and aids the splintering ache that forces your head between your knees as you curl into yourself, trying to steady your breathing.

It takes some time but the light eventually recedes, leaving all the room in the world for anxiety to fill the space. You hate to admit it to anyone other than yourself that these bouts have grown in frequency... and intensity. And, though you loathe to draw the correlation, they worsen with the defeat of each Lightwarden. But you _know_ all the same.

Despite Ryne growing fussier over you since leaving the Well, Hydaelyn bless her... again... you haven't let the affliction stop you from performing your duty. As only you can. And you cannot find it within yourself to begrudge her for it, even if it makes keeping the reality of your situation to yourself near infuriatingly difficult, what with her watching like mother would its hatchling. She, who is the closest to being in your own position. So young...

You try once more to recall the details of your dream, to no successful end, and flop back down into your pillow with a frustrated growl at the same time a wholly unrelated weight settles at the foot of your bed.

"Bloody Hells!"

Your hand makes it halfway to your weapon, propped at the side of the bed, before your eyes meet with the molten gold of those belonging to the only being that could potentially access your quarters... if he really wanted to. Which he apparently did.

"What are you doing here?" you gripe, bringing the sheets up over your chest, as the chemise you cast on before bed fails to leave much of anything to the imagination. _That would explain why he looks to be in such high spirits._ "You scared me half to death."

"Me? Scare you? I never imagined I would live long enough to see that." He snickers at his own idiotic joke, earning himself a none-too-gentle kick to the hip for his antics. "What? You're the one who called my name in the dead of night," he grumbles back.

"I... I did?"

This, for some reason or another, gives him pause. "You don't remember, do you?"

The guilty aversion of your eyes serves well enough by way of an answer, married with the outright dejection in your physicality.

"I want to, so desperately. To know why I feel more and more out of place in my own body as time goes on, and why there's this... emptiness in me that I never knew existed until I met..." You think better of finishing that utterance and shake your head clear of it. "Nevermind."

"I think not, dear hero," he urges, scooting forward with irksome grace. "’Until you met...' whom?"

"You know damn well 'whom,'" you mimic, pouting that he would press you for something so painfully obvious. His gaze, however, continues to plague you, forcing you to fidget and squirm in discomfort. The display of your personal unease only eggs him to crank the pressure up higher.

"Be that as it may, I wish to hear it come from your lips, regardless of what I do or do not know. And believe you me," he drawls, leaning forward until he crowds into your space, "I know a great many things."

With pupils blown wide at his suggestive tone, you appraise him, drinking in his face mere ilms from yours: the curve of his taunting smirk, the creases in his brow, the gentle swoop of his bang, the glow of his glimmering irises that you have grown so very fond of... perhaps, too much so.

You raise the hand not tangled in the fabric around your neck and press it to his chest. He, in turn, angles his body to meet your touch, drawing closer to you before he realizes that you are guiding him back and away.

He has the audacity to look perplexed, hurt almost, to have been spurned, albeit, gently.

_Serves him right._

"You may boast all you like about the knowledge you possess, and how it is only you few Ascians that are privy to it," you concede. " _But_ I will not have you dangling it in front of my face, leading me to Gods only know where, as one would a bloody race chocobo!" you grouse, withdrawing the physical contact to pointedly wrap the sheets tighter around yourself. "Why are you here again?"

"As I said before, _you_ are the one who called _me_ ," he explains with evident exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose as though you are the one causing him pain.

You can't help but go on the defensive, eyes narrowed, "And why exactly would I want to do that? How could there possibly be any benefit to having a snide, cocky, pretentious, manipulative, murderer by my si-"

Your back suddenly meets the bed, Emet-Selch's hands gripping your shoulders, upper body hovering above you, eyes burning a hole clean through you to steal your breath away. Regardless of how much space between you he allows to exist, you are utterly pinned, both physically and not, beneath his intense presence. Void and the tendrils spilling out behind him, and all.

"Because you always called my name when it became too much. Be it joy or pain, suffering or the greatest happiness we had ever known... And I have always answered _that_ call."

"I- we..." you flounder, bordering on manic at being cornered, drowning in his aether, and trying not to waste the shot of a lifetime now that you found your way under, what seemed to be, his impenetrable guise.

"What were we?"

It seems that outburst was not entirely calculated, as he reigns himself back in at realizing he's been had, whether you meant to do it or not. His hold on you softens until it becomes something akin to reverent, but he does not, or cannot, look at you.

"Lovers," he murmurs, running his hands along your arms, an action that sends a thrill up your spine. You can see his isn't lying, but his touch doesn't carry the gravity that his words would have you believe. And so, with a shaky exhale, you press on.

"When?"

"You are not _ready_."

"I'm not ready? _I'm not ready_? Behemoth-shite! When will that ever be, hm?" you demand, tapping into the supernatural strength Hydaelyn affords you to flip your positions and trap his wrists in the same fashion as he did you. "Answer me. When? Once the worlds are rejoined and Zodiark is made whole? When the plots of yours I foil without end bear fruit? Hm? When _precisely_ what I will never allow to come to pass, comes to pass!?"

Your chest heaves from the shouting, and you're thankful for the sound-dampening magics you put in place during one of Ardbert's visits where your conversation became heated... The Ascian beneath you being the topic of said spat. Always causing problems.

"Answer me," you implore one final time, letting go of his wrists to place your hands around his body; one to caress the side of his neck, and the other over where his heart thuds in his mortal hosts's chest. His own, in turn, slide up the outsides of your thighs, still trapping him where he lays. Agonizingly slow, his deft fingers graze over your form, mapping your sides and over your ribs, which forces you to stifle a giggle. Down your shoulders they travel, leaving goosebumps to form over your skin in their wake, until they hold where yours rest on his person. You hadn't so much as realized your eyes had shut tight until he issues a gentle command for you to look at him, this ethereal being, tempered by the Father of the original world. Your former lover from you don't know how far back in time, resting at ease underneath his enemy. You can see yourself loving him for all eternity like this.

"If you cannot remember your past; our past together," his voice sounding strained as it carries those words, "then it is beyond even I to educate you upon it. And you know that to be true."

"Show me, then," you breathe, leaning down until your foreheads connect, and brace yourself for the blasphemy you're about to speak. "Show me how you loved me in a past life, if it should still exist at all."

"Oh, my darling champion, never did it come close to fading.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where I wanna go with this, but getting there is gonna be a bit of an effort. Sorry if the characterization seems a little bit off between the first 2 chapters and future ones. Again, totally different mental places between then and now. If it doesn't show, then yay. Also, apologies if the quality isn't the same. Editing is a reeeeeeeally arduous process for me, and one of the only hurdles keeping me from putting out work. Cuz I'm a perfectionist who betas her own stuff. But I'm trying to not let that stop me from at least getting something out into the world for your reading pleasure. And next chapter might be saucy??? Ooooooh~  
> Anyway, feedback, as always is appreciated and taken into consideration. Hope y'all enjoy, and happy holidays. \o/ <3  
> Edit: Apologies for the wait on this coming chapter, but 5 probably won't make it out until mid-late February. I have some FC things coming up that need my attention and I was sick over the holidays. At least it'll come out at a mildly appropriate time lolol

**Author's Note:**

> Quite frankly, I don't know what I'm doing yet. Just bare with me and leave a comment or two to encourage me. I just have a lot of feelings about this expac, ok?


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